The Red Leopard
by SlvrSoleAlchmst1
Summary: Some shounen ai: Matt x Mello. Mello takes Matt to a questionable club so they can hunt down an old mob boss. And there's a leopard behind the sofa that keeps giving Matt ideas.


_A/N: This is the latest contest fic between myself, _**Tobi Tortue **_and _**The Angelic Demoness**_. Please read their entries once they get them up as well. The theme this time was animals. I must say… out of any fic I have EVER written, this one was the most fun to write. It draws on many of my own personal experiences, but er… I probably shouldn't have divulged that. Just don't think about it._

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"We're going to a nightclub," Mello explained to Matt, when Matt asked why Mello was prowling their apartment like some wild animal. "It's the only way to find anything out around here, and I'm getting sick of waiting. I can't find anything to wear, either. Fuck."

Matt didn't see what there was to swear about. Mello looked okay in anything, even when he wasn't being feminine about his ensemble, and there wasn't anything wrong with clubs, either. Matt settled into the lumpy couch and switched on his PSP to wait.

Clubs. What was wrong with clubs? Matt felt himself grow pleasantly warm as he thought of the atmosphere that permeated such places. Loud, pulsating music boomed to multicolored lights. Sweaty bodies clung close to each other and rocked and swayed while the bouncers kept a close watch on people that looked sketchy. Matt liked to mess with guys like that. He'd tilt his head so the shadows beneath his goggles shimmered deep and dark, and he'd skulk in corners in the heat and heavy air while his every move was monitored. Yeah, clubs were a good time. There were the places that had strippers, too, with the little paper dollars that Matt would get after he paid the cover charge. He remembered one particular night, when a curvy Latina chick had leaned in and brushed his shoulder while he'd slipped a bill into her garter belt…

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying?" Mello whipped a blur of something greasy and leather at Matt's face to call him back to mental HQ. "We have to blend in, or we blow the whole strategy! What makes me look sleazy, damn it?"

Matt put his game on pause and glanced up. _Besides your normal attire?_ he wanted to ask, but instead he pulled out a cigarette and said, "Anything that makes someone like me want to fuck you in less than thirty seconds."

"Ex_cuse_ me?" Mello exploded. "What are you getting at?"

"Well, considering that it normally takes me a full _minute_ to get turned on when I look at skinny dudes in leather, I'd say that's—"

"Shut up," Mello replied. "I don't need your bullshit right now. Forget I asked."

Matt shrugged. He was only joking. He never meant the sexual stuff when he delivered it – good, bad, or dangerous. Besides, it wasn't _his_ fault if everything Mello said always set the mood for a homo wisecrack.

Mello scanned him twice, seeming to forget the rumpled articles of clothing that dangled from his hands. "Are you going to get dressed, or are you going dressed like that? You look the same as you always do!"

Matt blinked behind his goggles; his cigarette smoke drifted across his vision, and he resumed his PSP game. "What do you want me to do, wear a leopard print jacket?" But Mello was already scrounging around again, grunts of "fuck," and "god damn it," rising like bad gastric juices from the belly of his closet.

When the drama finally ceased, Matt stood and brushed off the knees of his jeans to inspect his companion.

"You don't look much different yourself." Matt scratched behind the strap of his goggles while Mello made a face and attacked a bar of chocolate. Mello's limbs were white beneath the gleaming black of one of his vests. Matt noticed a new belt buckle, and the lace-up pants were certainly a little lower, but other than that…

"Quit staring at me like a hungry jungle cat," Mello said, tongue flicking out to clean the flecks of chocolate off his lips.

Matt gave Mello the finger. "That wasn't what I was doing. Now _you're_ the one that's full of bullshit." Despite his quick answer, Matt felt a shiver of the Caught Red Handed variety slipping through him. He took a deeper drag. "If we're going clubbing, let's go."

The club was in the middle of Vegas; they'd been in the city for two days, on the trail of some ex-mafioso who could get Mello into the business. Matt didn't normally have a problem with the neon city of sex, nightlife, and gambling – or mob guys for that matter – but the bus ride to their destination filled Matt with a sense of new irritation that he couldn't explain. It seemed to extend to the most trivial of matters. He got annoyed when the curly neon sign that read _Hot Hot Casino Grande_ seared his retinas. He felt like badmouthing the hooker by the lamppost for wearing too much black leather. She looked like Mello.

…And she was _not attractive_, Matt told himself firmly. Because he didn't find Mello attractive, either, damn it.

Even if Matt messed around with other guys on occasion, that didn't mean he wanted Mello. Even if he wondered every now and then what it might be like to mess around with Mello _anyway_ – all slick leather and pale skin and wild, jerky movements – that didn't mean he'd ever actually go through with it.

A creaky sway of the bus tossed Mello halfway onto Matt's lap, and then Mello was standing and hissing at Matt to get up because it was their stop. Matt closed his eyes and felt blindly for the handrail. He prayed they would get into the club without a hassle. He'd need about twenty hot female strippers to make up for the images he was seeing in his head.

They crossed the street and descended a dirty staircase that led down from a side alley. Matt read the sign on the faded, chipped door. _The Red Leopard._ Great. Maybe he should have found himself some leopard print to wear after all.

"What kind of nightclub is this, anyway?" he asked keenly, but Mello was digging the cover charge from his pocket and motioning for Matt to do the same.

They weren't technically of age, but they got past the club's authorities no problem. It was probably thanks to the dangerous signals Mello was sending out that suggested the murder of anyone in opposition to their entrance. Matt didn't know what Mello's bullying said for club security, but when he caught the scent of incense and felt the ripple of bass music crash through him, he forgot about his anxiety.

Mello shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to Matt, nodding once to let him know that now things would get serious. Matt already knew the plan forward and backward. His part was easy. Sit back and blend, keep a hawk's eye on the crowd and watch Mello's blind sides from afar. Kick ass if necessary. And in the meantime… Matt sighed. Pay for Mello's jacket to go into the coat check.

After he'd flashed the multi-pierced lady in the coat check a winning smile and told her to hang the jacket on rack number seven for luck, Matt adjusted his goggles and slid into the club's interior.

He noticed a strange complication at once.

Everyone in the club was dressed in shades of dark gray to blackest black, studded with spikes, dripping in chains, tangled in fishnets and sporting twisted tattoos. Matt checked frantically around for Mello. The blonde was on the opposite side of the dance floor, shoulders tense as he tried to go about his business. _He'd_ noticed the sense of collective fashion too, and he knew Matt would be standing out just as well as Matt knew it now. Shit.

Matt immediately began to seek out the most obscure corner he could find. Then he doubled back to put his vest in the coat check with Mello's. The less color he had on, the better. His boots were already black; his shirt was black and white striped… It would have to do. If there was one thing Matt knew about these sorts of operations, it was that sticking out in a crowd could get you targeted and killed.

Once his initial panic had passed, Matt breathed a sigh and melted into the shadow of a column on his left. The club was a basement joint, low ceilinged and concrete. Every available surface had been painted red, with misshapen black blobs scattered here and there like spots. A throng of people shifted in front of him and revealed the floor. The place was carpeted in an animal print rug – red and black leopard spots. Matt fought the urge to grimace. As if regular leopard print wasn't tacky enough.

As he was staring at the bold pattern, a rather large foot in a black stiletto crushed the patch of rug he was examining. Matt followed the foot to a thick ankle, then up a muscular leg to where a short skirt covered a most un-feminine bulge at the crotch.

Oh god.

Matt was glad he had goggles to conceal the way his eyes must have popped. Drag queen - there was a very flamboyant and _dark_ looking drag queen occupying the space between Matt and the dance floor. He tried not to feel awkward. He watched the large man tap a slender youth on the shoulder. The kid was wearing tight, skinny-legged pants and a fishnet tank top. He turned around and grinned. Then he started dancing with the drag queen.

Matt shifted his gaze elsewhere. It wasn't like he'd never seen such things go on in clubs. Most of the time, he didn't feel he had a right to preach. He and Mello weren't exactly the finest specimens that the world possessed. Speaking of Mello…

The big drag queen had moved, and now Matt's view was free. He'd lost sight of the blonde though, and damn it, he didn't need anything else in this weird place distracting him from his job. A shaggy boy in a black bandana tried to say something to him over the music, but Matt politely brushed him off and continued looking for Mello. The screaming of the rock guitar chords was shredding his inner ears, but he didn't care. At least it was good music. Not what he was used to at clubs, but the notes were something to keep him from stressing.

Then he saw Mello at the bar, leaning over the countertop and speaking with the hairy-armed bartender. Safe for the time being.

And Matt had spotted the blonde not a moment too soon; the lights dimmed and a corner stage that Matt had not noticed lit up in a blue wash. The voice of an announcer roared over the music. Matt peered around for the drag queen and wondered if they were about to introduce a drag show.

"You've all been waiting for it," tempted the voice, which was high and lisping, "And so here he comes, star of this night's sexiest round of dancers…" Matt missed the stage name over the wild hooting and shouts of the onlookers. The spotlight went on, and out sashayed a well-toned man in a g-string, looking like his entire body had been waxed for the occasion. Matt spun around and grabbed his column for support.

_Ah_. That proved his final suspicions. The Red Leopard was a _gay_ nightclub. He'd have to thank Mello for the warning later on.

Not that Matt had any problem with gay places. It just… wasn't what he'd expected. And why hadn't Mello _told_ him the details before they went out? Was he afraid that Matt would cop out if he knew where they were headed?

Matt took one more glance at Mello's figure at the bar. Mello was sipping something dark – a Snakebite, maybe? – and still conversing with the burly bartender. Matt decided it was time he found a discreet location and stuck to it. He sized up his options. There was an open space against the wall near the stage, where Señor Wax-My-Scrotum was dancing a slow tango with the metal pole. There was a rather tempting spot between two pairs of lesbians who were currently ignoring the strip tease and grinding each other with glazed eyes. Matt ruled it out at once. Mello would kill him if he found his backup indulging in girl-on-girl fantasies. Then where…?

A tail wagged in his peripherals. Matt whipped off his goggles and pivoted. …Tail?

There it was again, disappearing behind the arm of a chair that was spotted in red and black leopard print. Matt blinked. The tail had seemed to blend with the pattern on the chair, but he'd caught a flash of _gold_ rather than red…

"It's the tame leopard that the club keeps on weekends," strained a voice in his ear from behind. Matt whirled around to find the speaker in the dark. It was a boy, probably Matt's own age, but he looked much younger. Poor slob must have needed a fake ID to get in.

"You're shitting me," Matt replied, recalling the tail that he'd thought had been a mirage due to too much gayness and the dizzying lights.

"Nope," the boy responded, idly twirling the chain that hung from his bullet belt. "And you're pretty hot without those goggles on. You wanna go pet it?"

"Pet it?" Matt echoed, wondering for a moment if that was the new gay lingo for "jerk me off in the bathroom."

"Yeah, pet the leopard. It won't hurt you. It's actually pretty old, and they clipped off his claws and filed down his teeth ages ago."

Matt followed the boy to where the armchair and a wide, plush sofa squatted crammed in another corner of the room. Matt saw the tail peep out again, this time from around the couch. He knelt on the cushions and looked back behind the furniture.

Sure enough, there was a leopard prowling between the sofa and the wall. Matt watched the boy reach down to stroke it behind the ears. It was too loud inside to tell, but he decided it must have been purring when it tilted its head and rubbed against the strange human's thigh.

"See?" Matt was asked as he looked on in astonishment. "Hey, you want a drink or anything?"

Matt held back a chortle. The pipsqueak was offering to buy him a drink, and for some reason he found it funny. He refused, and the kid shrugged and headed off toward the stage and the strip tease. Matt sank down onto the welcoming sofa while the jungle cat crawled out and took refuge under the coffee table. Matt watched it carefully, and the leopard watched him back. When he began to feel uncomfortable with the standoff, Matt took to observing Mello again instead. Blonde hair glinted as Mello floated across the dance floor, drink in hand. He looked like he was trying to pick his way over toward Matt – Matt wasn't sure – but he was intercepted by a tall man in black cowboy boots. The two conversed briefly before heading to the center of the floor.

Matt felt something inside him go sour. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He wanted a cigarette, and he couldn't see any bouncers to stop him from smoking inside, but he decided against it.

The leopard nuzzled his ankles.

"You know, I'm not a fan of cats," Matt told it, reaching down to scratch its ears as he had seen the boy do earlier. "I'm more of a dog guy. But I guess giant, killer felines like you are okay. I approve of the distinctly badass." His eyes flicked up to Mello and his dance partner and down to the cat again.

He was talking to a leopard in the middle of a nightclub. Not only that, but the poor animal was probably deaf from being in such a loud, rowdy room every weekend.

"Why exactly am I talking to you?" he asked it, and it met his gaze with rheumy amber eyes. "You poor old thing, damn it. Why don't they let you out of here?" He scratched its neck and then slid a hand along the muscular shoulder blades. "At least you're a better pal right now than Mello is…" Matt leaned back, and the leopard curled up at his feet. Now all he had to do was sit and wait. Wait for Mello to motion that it was time to go because he'd gotten what he'd wanted. Or that he needed backup, or that shit was about to go down and that Matt should hit the dirt.

Mello's distant figure was mesmerizing. He twisted and gyrated to the heavy rock music. His tall partner was hanging on his every shift, and Matt could tell that Mello knew it and was using it to his advantage. The strip show had halted after a long series of cheers and disappointed groans, and now there was nothing to steal the man's wandering attention. All focus rested on Mello. And Mello was certainly worth the attention that he was receiving, with the way he swung his hips and tossed his hair…

Matt felt bitter.

"Mello's being a whopping great man-whore right now," he muttered to the feline at his feet, and the leopard didn't move. "A _huge_ prick. Bitching at me for making questionable jokes and then taking us to a _gay_ club, and leaving me to handle all the awkwardness. I want a fucking cigarette. Think Mello would care if I stepped outside?" The leopard flexed its huge front paws. "Yeah, you're right. He's too busy being a fag with that skyscraper dude. He won't notice." Matt made as if to stand, then realized that the cat was lying across his feet. "Fuck you, spotty. Whose side are you on?"

He didn't know if the jungle cat could hear him, but it looked up and twitched its ears. "Don't look at me like that," Matt pleaded. "I just think this is a little unfair, all right?" Then he frowned. Exactly what was it that was so unfair? And _why was he talking to a god damned cat?_

The leopard was still peering at him.

"You think I'm jealous. I can read you like a book, kitty. I'll make you into a fur coat if you don't quit putting me on the guilt trip." The leopard yawned as if to tell Matt that his threats meant nothing, and then it rested its head between its front paws and closed its eyes. Matt lost his patience.

"Sure. Go to sleep on me. Fine – if you're not listening, I'll tell you the truth. _I think I want to bang Mello until he comes rainbow._ There. Now you know. Complete, unadulterated truth, that was, and you missed it." Matt wrung his hands and cracked his knuckles. "I may joke around, but he's damned enticing, and seeing him out there with that tall bastard is starting to piss me off."

No movement from the leopard. Matt was tempted to grow truly angry with it. He suddenly felt like he needed a good fight, but he doubted he'd get anywhere with such a tame animal. This was not some spin off of _The Jungle Book_. Matt was not Mogli. He couldn't communicate with animals to tell one that he wanted a brawl.

"If you won't brawl with me, at least go chomp on Mello's leg until he gets his ass over here," Matt ordered, still to no effect. Then, "Shit. You lazy feline. This is why I like dogs. But not Chihuahuas. I fucking hate Chihuahuas, those ugly sons of bitches."

This time, the leopard unfolded its legs and stood up between Matt's knees and the coffee table. It looked unconvinced.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm avoiding the subject. Don't throw a hissy fit."

"Please don't tell me you're talking to the leopard."

Matt's throat tightened, and he removed his fingers from his eyes where he'd been rubbing them to clear his head. "Well, well. Greetings. Done already?"

Mello thrust his half-empty glass into Matt's face and waited for him to take it. "Here, it's disgusting. I sent that other bastard to get me a chocolate martini instead. Then I decided that I didn't want to be around when he got back."

Matt took the drink gratefully and downed it in three gulps, caring nothing for the looks he received from both Mello and the leopard. "Why? Is the guy an asshole?"

A thin, humorless smile curved Mello's lips. "He asked me if I'd want to join him for a _stroll _later on."

Matt caught the nuance in his companion's tone and grimaced. "Ah. Well then. And the mafioso you wanted to talk to?"

"The bartender," Mello clarified. "He _is_ the old mob boss. I wasn't expecting it either."

"Is he gay?" Matt asked out of curiosity.

Mello frowned. "Does it matter?"

Matt shut up after that.

They stayed there for a while, Matt eyeing the leopard that seemed to be a machine of disapproval, and Mello standing with his arms folded while he surveyed the area. It wasn't long before Matt's mind began to wander to the same place it had been before Mello had joined him. The colored lights threw different shadows onto Mello's features; red made him gleam demonically and blue tossed him into relief. Green made him look sickly. Then Matt's gaze traveled up the length of Mello's tight pants, over the pattern of lacing at the crotch, the attention-seizing belt buckle. The exposed strip of skin at Mello's waist made Matt feel like a burning coal had been stuffed into his lower abdomen and left to smolder hotter and hotter. He swallowed. Beads of sweat had collected on Mello's shoulders, neck, and forehead, perfectly placed as if daubed on by an artist's brush. It was… seductive.

The leopard stretched and walked away, offended.

"Mello," Matt started, unsurprised by his desire to test the lines between friendship and bed-partner once and for all. "What if that guy comes back with your drink? Maybe we should head onto the dance floor and conveniently get lost in the people."

Mello's stare was sharper than the leopard's had been. "What?"

"If we're supposed to blend, then let's blend. Let's dance." He snapped his goggles back on to hide any expression that might have crossed his face as he made the proposition.

Mello considered him for a moment, arms akimbo, before replying, "Fine. You'd better know how to play the part." Mello grabbed him by the hand – Matt nearly toppled at the unexpected contact – and led him onto the dance floor, the part that vibrated from the force of the speakers. For a second, Matt found he had gone still under the assault of his nerves. "What are you doing?" Mello said. "Move, damn it." And then Mello's arms were around his neck.

Mello pulled him close, hip to hip and nose to nose, grinding and swaying to the rhythm of the heavy metal that blasted through the atmosphere. The friction was almost too much for Matt to bear, and he wondered how everyone else managed to maintain control. Matt tried to focus on the song itself. It was something in German, guttural and harsh, so concentrating on lyrics would do him no good. Rather, the foreign tongue turned him deaf to the sound completely, and he stifled a groan when Mello pressed in with his hips and arched backward to a dramatic clash of cymbals. His neck was smooth and prone and tempting.

"You know, I had gotten the impression that you went to clubs all the time, Matt. So why is it that you suck at dancing? I told you that you have to _play the part_. People are looking at us funny." The last bit was hissed into his ear like a warning.

Matt figured it was no good telling Mello that he usually danced with girls. He also figured it was useless to explain how he was trying to keep his body motions minimal, lest the blonde sense the heat that was pooling beneath Matt's belt. "Maybe they're all staring because you look and dance like Madonna in her Jump video," he wisecracked.

To Matt's surprise, Mello tugged him closer and placed a theatrical kiss on one side of his neck. It was sinister, Matt could tell, and he knew he was being menaced. From a close perspective it felt that way, anyway. To onlookers Matt was going to get laid tonight.

"I'll fucking kill you if you ever say that again," Mello breathed sweetly, to conceal the murderous intent.

Matt snorted. "How'd you get so good at acting like a homo?" he asked to change the subject, and to rain revenge for Mello's evil kiss.

This time Mello seized Matt by his red hair and hauled his head in to rest on his shoulder. From the outside, an act of affection. From Matt's inside knowledge, a death threat.

"You think I _want_ to do this?" Mello responded, and this time the angry buzz was clear over the blasting of the speakers. "Even L knew how to play a role. I don't want to hear you knock it. Now shut up and _learn how to act gay_, or we're going to have an issue."

Matt jerked his head away from Mello's shoulder, indignant. Mello had no idea what agony he was causing him. The blonde didn't seem to care. He rubbed himself across Matt's body and ran his soft, gloved hands over Matt's waist, while Matt hung on to Mello's hips for dear life and prayed that he wouldn't lose it, or try to bone his partner in the center of the dance floor. He was sweating bullets. This was too much to handle. This was like… purgatory, or a really lousy hangover.

Then Matt saw the leopard, perched on the sofa far across the room and occupying his former position. It was watching him. Probably laughing at his discomfort.

"You sly cat, you," Matt gritted aloud.

At that moment, Mello rose from a low dip that had brought his nose level with Matt's abdomen. "What did you call me?" Mello asked dangerously.

Matt cursed himself. "I was talking to the leopard," he explained weakly.

"You're so useless, Matt. For a second I thought you had the hang of it, but then you pull back and make excuses. This was _your_ bright idea! Can you or can you not do this?"

Matt was sick of being patronized. He was here risking his ass for Mello's sake, wasn't he? He didn't know _what _the hell he wanted! Matt wondered how Mello would respond if he decided to sic the club's mascot leopard on him.

"Fine, Mello." He didn't know what else to say. Mello would only have himself to blame if Matt lost control. "I'm game if you are."

"I was game a long time ago. Get with the program."

The leopard's eyes seemed to twinkle long distance.

Matt began to move with Mello. Heated, subtle thrusts meshed with wandering hands and tangled strands of sweaty, slick hair. The crowd pressed in around them, forcing them to move closer to each other if they wanted to keep their space in the center of the floor. Matt closed his hands around Mello's behind, and Mello didn't react other than a slight tick near his temple that Matt couldn't interpret. But the blonde did his part. He brushed himself over Matt's crotch and clung more tightly to Matt's shoulders. Matt held his breath until he feared he'd go blue in the face and give their game away. Then he blinked when Mello stopped dancing and spun around.

It was the tall man that had been Mello's previous partner. "Got your chocolate martini," he announced. He didn't look thrilled by the new level of awkward.

Mello paused. He half reached out to take the drink, then drew his hand back in hesitation, all in one smooth, veiled motion that Matt caught only due to years of practice reading Mello's body language. Matt waited a second longer, but it appeared that Mello – for once in his headstrong career – didn't know what to do.

Matt to the rescue.

"Thanks," Matt offered in Mello's place, stepping forward and sweeping the drink from the larger man's hands. He passed the glass off to its intended recipient. "Here you go, babe." Then he turned back to the third party and put on a bold grin. "You get one freebie, but next time, keep your hands off my boyfriend."

The skyscraper man didn't appear convinced. "He's with you?"

"Yeah." Matt swept Mello up by the waist. It was reckless, but did he have a choice? A skeptical glare still shone on the face of Mello's admirer. After an instant of inward debate, Matt reached the inevitable solution and knew he'd have to follow through.

He planted his lips over Mello's. And, to his credit… he tried to make it look really gay, even though he only wanted to enjoy the sensation of Mello's pliant mouth against his and forget that the rest of the world existed.

Mello stilled for a quick lapse of time, but took up his cue appropriately. When Matt dipped him backward just enough to make it look genuine, Mello held on to the nape of Matt's neck with one gloved hand and kissed him back – hard. Matt risked a peep through one eye beneath his goggles to check the reaction of their onlooker, but said man had already turned his hind side in retreat. Mello opened the kiss; he swept his tongue along the rim of Matt's lower lip and moved in swirling patterns, sucking on Matt's mouth until Matt could taste the tang of Mello's Snakebite. He wondered how long it would take for Mello to realize that the tall man had left. He'd have told the blonde himself if he were allowed the freedom of speaking. His mouth was apparently desired for a different purpose, though. Mello straightened, still kissing Matt feverishly, using both hands to clutch at him now. The chocolate martini sloshed fit to spill.

That was when Matt realized that Mello already _knew_ the tall man was gone. He just hadn't wanted to stop their contact.

Matt felt Mello's slick body up against him, tasted his skillful, indulgent lips and went mad at the way they worked him into a mist of raw desire. He loosed a moan, and only then did Mello release him. The blonde hardly met Matt's eye before he was rocking to the music again, bending his knees and going low, lower… all the way to the floor, where he held on to Matt's hips and laid a kiss on Matt's inner thigh. It was obvious now. Mello was running on the fuel of desperate craving.

"Jesus fuck." Matt reached down to haul Mello up, hazy with his lust.

He spun Mello around so they were facing the same direction, wrapping his arms around Mello's front from behind. God, Mello was hazardous. He had to distance himself from the wild display that had just taken place, had to bite back everything he felt and keep it down. Even if Mello _had_ chosen to kiss him long after their act should have ended, Matt couldn't afford to lose his composure here, with Mello pulling dance moves straight out of a porno film. There were people around. Standing out could get you killed.

Mello reached a hand up and over to find Matt's neck again. He leaned his head back to rest it on Matt's shoulder, and they moved as one. From his convenient position, Matt could see right down the lines of Mello's slender body – the way his tight stomach clenched at the heat of contact, the way his narrow hips jutted out. How his low pants clung just below those same hips and stretched across, sleek and gleaming…

Matt felt a sharp nudge at the back of one knee, and he went staggering forward. The result pressed him hard into Mello from behind. Mello gasped out his pleasure.

"Easy there, kitty," Matt grunted. But he was talking to the leopard that had snuck around behind him and was now slinking off to some other, less populated area.

"What am I to you, a domestic pet?" Mello retorted. Then he finished his chocolate martini and handed the glass off to a confused looking lesbian. She accepted it automatically, not realizing what she was agreeing to. Upon hitting lightbulb status, she yelled something and sought to return the glass, but Mello ignored her and she stormed off to the bar to discard it. Matt chuckled, but his stomach tightened and he realized that it was an effort to find anything humorous. He was too far wound – built up with tension from sheer desire – and all he yearned to do was release what beast of passion gnawed at him in Mello's presence.

Then Matt didn't have time to think. Mello had detached himself; now he was leading Matt toward the bathroom, shoving people out of the way and leaving them indignant in his wake. The drag queen stumbled on his stilettos when they barged past.

The bathroom door flew open with a bang. "Get out," Mello demanded of everyone present. The males waiting in line took one look at Mello's snarl and Matt in his exotic goggles and stripes and promptly flew. Next Mello kicked open the door of a closed stall, where two men had apparently been planning to get intimate. "Out," he murmured perilously. Matt concluded that they must have seen Mello negotiating with the mob-boss-gone-bartender, because they zipped up their flies and skedaddled.

When the door had closed, Mello slammed Matt against the wall with shaking hands, clutching with urgency at Matt's shirt. Matt sucked in a sharp breath upon impact, just before Mello's desperate lips closed over his for the second time that night. Matt kissed back, firm and equally as demanding as Mello had been earlier. Mello released a lust-ridden moan and went for Matt's belt buckle.

Matt was quicker. His fingers found the lacing in Mello's leather pants, and he tugged lightly before palming the bulge that had grown there. Mello's breath caught – fly in a trap – and Matt knew Mello was too far gone to rationalize.

"You're not acting anymore, Mello," Matt murmured against the warm skin of Mello's throat after sucking on the sensitive spot and twirling his tongue in sweet circular patterns.

Mello didn't say anything for a while; he let Matt pry loose the corded laces on his pants, tilting into the action to feel Matt's fingers through the material. "It's not about me," he breathed when he could manage words. Said words were choked with desire, and they wavered like long half notes. "_You're_ supposed to be _straight_. What are you doing responding like this?"

Matt swapped their positions so that Mello could lean against the wall for support. He closed his hand over Mello's hardened member, and Mello sagged, weak with the unexpected pleasure of Matt's touch. "Straight?" Matt echoed. "I never said that. Though I guess I'm not explicitly gay, either. And I guess I've been more attracted to you lately than I have been to anyone else."

"So you're basically really confused, is that it?" Mello cut himself off with a cry. "Ahh – Matt!" Matt had taken to running his tongue along Mello's exposed collarbone.

"If you wanted to know," Matt whispered, husky next to Mello's ear, "You could have just asked, instead of giving me shit when I cracked gay jokes and acting straight yourself when you're clearly not."

"L knew how to play a role," Mello repeated, as if _acting_, no matter what the part, was necessary in all aspects of life at one point or another because the Great Detective had said so. Then Mello's knees gave way – he let out a cry of ecstasy as Matt stroked him with precision and skill. Matt felt Mello's fingers close like a vise on his shoulders, heard Mello's breathing turn ragged and uneven. He liked Mello this way.

Then a stall door creaked open, and both of them froze. Matt turned.

Out plodded the leopard, to creep past them and make its way diplomatically toward the exit. Before it pushed the door open with a tawny shoulder, it glanced back at the two of them.

Mello gaped.

"You're cool and all," Matt croaked, as taken aback as his partner by the animal's sudden appearance, "And I realize that I spilled my guts to you earlier, but seriously – sneaking up on us in here is going a little too far, don't you think?" The leopard yawned its big cat yawn and padded out. It swished its tail as if to tell Matt that everything was his own fault – for getting it on in a public restroom.

"That's it, Mello," Matt gritted. "The Red Leopard is the weirdest nightclub I've ever been to. _The weirdest._" Mello rolled his eyes and tugged Matt in for another steamy kiss.

But not before they both glanced at the door to make sure the jungle cat had gone.

◊ ◊ ◊

_A/N: Yes, I pulled the whole Madonna-looks-like-Mello-in-her-Jump-video thing. And I also had a reference to Rammstein. __("Du… du hast… du hast mich…" Or that was the song I pictured, but since Matt doesn't understand German I left details out.) Bwaha, this was just SO MUCH FUN to write. XD_


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